Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

“He’s going to the spirit woods?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I suppose one only goes to such a place to consort with scrooms.” The Striga paused, and churred softly. “How convenient. Yes, how very convenient. A king—a so-called king consorting with scrooms. This is worse than any vanity. Why…why, it’s hagscraft!” And by the time he returns , thought the Striga, this great tree will be mine. These kingdoms, these five kingdoms will be mine and the true redemption shall begin. For I have flown through the shadows of faith, have been lured by the deadliest of vanities, have scoured and plucked myself so I am the perfect vessel for this kingship .
    The Striga was nearly overwhelmed by his own sense of perfection. The tree would be his soon. And if anyone had any doubts about his right to rule this great tree, he knew that there were now enough of his elite fighting unit, the Blue Brigade, to take the tree by force. But there might be very little need for force after the climactic moment of the Balefire Night festivities—the special relinquishing ceremonies. No one would dare oppose him after that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Last Design
    I t’s the Greenowls of Ambala!” A hearty cheer rose up from the grog tree where owls were just beginning to celebrate Balefire Night. They churred and hooted as scores of owls draped in cloaks of greenest moss and lichen flew by overhead.
    “Ain’t seen them out for Balefire Night in a long time.”
    “Naw, they usually keep to themselves, those owls of Ambala,” said another.
    “Don’t quite have the gizzard for Balefire this year meself,” a Whiskered Screech muttered. “Not with all them owls sporting the blue feathers.”
    “Lousy bunch.”
    “Hush, they got spies all over.” A Pygmy Owl fluttered down and put out a nut cup for a spot of bingle juice.
    “They say the king’s useless now. Gone yeep in his own hollow—never comes out.”
    Coryn’s gizzard twisted painfully as he overheard this last remark. He had taken a detour on his way to theShadow Forest because it had suddenly struck him that he was unarmed. If he went to a Rogue smith he would be recognized, but he could perhaps sneak some coals from a Balefire. He knew from times past that this particular grog tree kept a Balefire, but most of the owls were too occupied with their drinking to keep a close watch on the fire, which was a short distance from the base of the grog tree’s trunk. They might play a few games around it as the evening wore on but, for now, they were enjoying the bingle juice and the song of a rather off-key gadfeather. The owls gathered into a tighter clump in the lower branches as the gadfeather began a new verse. Now would be the perfect time to fetch the coals, along with the discarded botkin on a chain he had seen near the fire to carry them in. He kept a careful watch, and when all the owls had congregated on the other side of the tree far from the Balefire, he stole down and in one swift pass grabbed the botkin and chain and plucked some coals from the very heart of the fire to fill it.
    He was off before the gadfeather had even finished the first bars of the song. He headed as fast as he could fly toward the Shadow Forest, the place he’d seen in the flames where he thought he might find Kalo or his namesake, Cory.
    He slowed his flight as he approached the tree, then felt his gizzard swim up when he heard the voices of two owls.
    He flew into the thickest branches of a black spruce, blinked and focused on the two owls who were flying low around the fallen tree, sometimes lighting down and peering into a crack or hole.
    “She ain’t here! But she’s been here not long ago.”
    “Yep. I see fresh pellets. Some molted feathers.”
    “Hope she’s not going through an early molt. The Striga and Field Marshal Cram want all the owls that we’re supposed to bring to the island in full feather. Burn better that way.”
    Coryn’s gizzard throbbed with disgust and hatred.
    “Scouring. That’s the word we’re supposed to use. Scouring—not burning—remember? That’s the one the Striga always uses. It’s their redemption. Cleanse them so they can rise to glaumora.”
    Coryn had stopped listening to this trash. He opened the botkin and broke off a branch from the tree and then broke that one in half again.
    “Hey, what’s that noise? Something in that tree!”
    And at that very instance, Coryn flew out of the tree with two flaming branches.
    “Time for a